


Lucid

by Scrunyuns



Category: Fargo (2014)
Genre: (i.e. Numbers dies), Angst-O-Rama, Canon Compliant, Dreams and Nightmares, M/M, Unrequited Love, very unsubtle symbolism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-02
Updated: 2015-09-02
Packaged: 2018-04-13 19:22:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4534152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scrunyuns/pseuds/Scrunyuns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wrench is a lucid dreamer and he uses this to his advantage - but then they go to Minnesota, and everything changes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lucid

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ithinkwehitametaphor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ithinkwehitametaphor/gifts), [maskedbandit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/maskedbandit/gifts).



> The idea for this fic started out as just sorta fun & silly & sexy but then I was like, "what if I make this an unrequited love fic... AND keep it canon compliant" and hey presto: ANGST WANK.
> 
> I dedicate this to ithinkwehitametaphor and maskedbandit, who gave me the lowdown on lucid dreaming ;-) Thanks, guys! *blowkiss* Hope you like it (and I'm sorry for all the sappiness).

Although he's pretty sure he has never been here before, the motel room somehow seems familiar. He has seen the inside of so many motel rooms, though, and they all look more or less the same; cheap furniture, dirty sheets, ugly wallpaper, uglier curtains.  _But the colors here are a bit off,_ he thinks. _Everything is a bit off._

On one of the beds sits a figure he recognizes as his partner. Numbers turns to him, the whites of his eyes glowing, blurry features bathed in the deep green light of the sunset. Or sunrise. Wrench is finding it hard to tell which it is.

 _Hey,_ Numbers says without moving his hands, or even his mouth.

 _Is this a dream?_ Wrench asks, in the same telepathic manner.

_Of course not._

_Well, you_ would _say that, wouldn't you._

With much difficulty, his arms moving at the speed of syrup, Wrench pulls out his phone. The display is flickering, and the clock says 17:76 first, then 04:88, then 95:02, constantly changing. When he looks down at his feet, he finds that the garish floral design of the wall-to-wall carpet is shifting and contorting. _Dream Numbers is a goddamn liar._  Then a wicked thought comes to him: if he tries hard enough, he might be able to turn this weird dream into a sexy dream.

 _I want you to get naked,_ he orders.

Expressing his wishes usually works, even if he's not actually signing them or saying them out loud. And sure enough, the dream projection of Numbers shrugs, as if Wrench had just asked him for a tissue. His clothes suddenly dissolve, falling to the floor in a heap of black scraps. _What a showboater._

 _Come here,_ Wrench calls, and his partner obeys.

The tattoos on Numbers' arms and chest are moving and morphing, just like the flowers on the carpet. Wrench runs his thumb across his partner's collarbones, and the swirling letters saying 'Boundaries' disappear at his touch, smudging out like fresh paint. _Good riddance._ Grabbing Numbers by the back of the neck, Wrench leans in and kisses him softly.

 _Get on the bed,_ he commands.

Numbers nods, smiling softly, and does as he's told. This unquestioning compliance rubs Wrench the wrong way - it's so uncharacteristic of his partner. _It's as if he's been drugged or something._ The real Numbers would probably throw a shoe at his head at the mere suggestion.

 _I want you to be more like the real Numbers,_ Wrench tells him. _More stubborn._

 _Fuck you, asshole!_  Numbers says with a very convincing glare. _Don't tell me what to do._

Wrench grins.

_That's more like it._

_Just shut up and fuck me, idiot._

Wrench is about to do just that, when the phone in his pocket starts to vibrate. He wants to ignore it, he really does, but something compels him to check the message.

'We got a job.'

_Ah, fuck._

The scene - tacky motel room interior, naked Numbers and all - melts away before his eyes, and he soon realizes that he's back in his own bed. The light from his window is back to its normal golden hue, and his partner is nowhere to be found. When he looks at his phone he finds a text from Numbers, the same one as in his dream. His brain will do that from time to time; something gets him half awake and whatever it is will be incorporated into his dream. Annoyed and horny, he tries to go back to sleep, but it's no use. Another text ticks in.

'Get off your lazy ass and answer me!'

'Your timing is terrible. I was having a really nice dream.' Wrench replies.

Several minutes pass before Numbers answers him and Wrench is starting to panic, thinking that he has freaked him out.

'Please, spare me the details,' the final text reads. 'I'm coming over in 20 mins, you better be ready.'

\---

They're just dreams, but Wrench still feels guilty and dirty. _It's almost as if I'm taking advantage._

They're not all sex dreams, of course. He will often manufacture dreams where he and Numbers are just being a couple, doing regular couple things like snuggling on the couch and watching TV, or walking in the park, holding hands and kissing in public. Sometimes he'll even dream up having a pet or a child together, that perfect domestic fantasy he knows he can't have, even if Numbers was interested.

 _I want you to love me like I love you,_ he'll command, and suddenly Numbers will look at him like he's the only thing in the universe that matters. Those are the best dreams.

He tries to sleep as much as his schedule allows and has started reading books on lucid dreaming, learning little tricks here and there on how to control his nocturnal escapades, what signs to look for. Wrench manages to create an entire alternate universe within his dreams, a universe where he finally gets what he wants. And it's all his to control - until Duluth, that is.

 _I had a dream where you died_ , Wrench confesses.

 _I'm not going to die,_ Numbers signs, scoffing. _Stop your worrying. Let's just get this M-A-L-V-O fucker so we can go home._

\---

An abundance of white, that's all he sees. If it wasn't for gravity he wouldn't have known which way was up and which was down, because the ground is invisible to him, indistinguishable from the sky. He calls for his partner by telepathy, but receives no answer. He stumbles around blindly, barely able to move, until he feels the ground collapsing under his feet and he falls.

There's a woman in the room with him when he wakes up. She's in a hospital gown, too, and he recognizes her face from the insurace office. _The cop._ When she hands him a board and a marker, he jots down the question sitting at the forefront of his mind.

'Partner?'

A shake of her head, a single word on her lips, and Wrench feels like he's falling again.

\---

"If you still feel raw about things when you heal up, come see me."

There's a sense of disbelief when Malvo hands him the key. _Where did he get it? And why would he give it to me? "Come see me"? Does the man have a fucking death wish?_ Wrench figures it's fake, a ruse, one more way to rub salt in his wounds.

In spite of all this, his curiosity tells him to give it a try - and to his astonishment, the key actually works.

\---

Wrench has always considered himself an independent person. He had made it through twenty-three years of his life before Numbers became a part of the picture, no problem. And so it shouldn't be a problem now - but nevertheless, it is.

 _My fault._ That's the only thought he was left with, after the cop had broken the news.  _All my fault._

Malvo doesn't scare him. Wrench has never in his life met a man he feared, not for his own sake, anyway. The thing he's always feared the most in another human being was not what they could do to him, but rather what they could _take_ from him. Of course, he had only realized this when he'd been lying handcuffed to a hospital bed and it was far too late to really do anything about it.

From then on, his dreams are no longer managable and they always seem to be plagued by a vicious wolf. Sleep doesn't come easy, but when it does he will find himself in a raging blizzard. He'll be calling out to his partner, suddenly stumbling upon the scene of Numbers getting his throat torn out by the beast. Or he'll find him already dead, the wolf devouring his body whole. Wrench knows they're just nightmares, yet he feels compelled to try and stop it - but his legs won't move through the thick snow, his fingers too stiff with cold to pull the trigger.

_Let me at least have my dreams back, you sack of shit._

\--- 

His search for Malvo goes on for days, weeks, even _months_ , but somehow he's always coming up short. Just when Wrench thinks he's got the scent of something, that motherfucker slips through his fingers like smoke.

He has got nothing to go on now besides rumors and whispers. Using a notepad to communicate, he asks around in diners about having encountered a creepy stranger with a bowl cut. Some will say yes, some say no. The few, vague clues that he does get only result in more confusion and frustration, and he ends up just chasing his tail.

When he'd gotten back to Fargo, the first thing he had done was to go to his safety deposit box. His emergency cash had sustained him for some months, but eventually it ran out and he'd been forced to find other alternatives. Now he does what he can to stay alive and keep going, mostly robbing gas stations and roadside shops.

It's risky and he knows it, but he can't bring himself to give a shit. It doesn't matter. There's no punishment in all of Hell that can match the agony Wrench wishes upon Lorne Malvo, and that's all that matters.

\---

When the snow starts to melt, Wrench is still empty-handed. He is beginning to think there is now a very real possibility that he might never find the bastard.

In a gas station along the road he spots a newspaper with the headline 'Wife-Killer on Thin Ice Meets Chilling Death'. Once he's done rolling his eyes at this shameless display of tabloid journalism, he recognizes the dumb fuck grinning back at him in one of the photos. _That little shit..._ For a second Wrench thinks he might have another lead, but the article says nothing about a psycho with stupid hair. _Yet another disappointment_.

Sighing, Wrench puts the paper back on the stand and pulls his gun on the cashier.

\---

The soles of his boots are worn down from dragging his feet. He forgets to eat. He wastes away.

Whenever Wrench gets the chance to lie down, be it in a motel room, on a bus seat, or under a bridge, he tries to dream. At least this aspect of his life is back to normal, more or less: now there's no wolf, no blizzard. Whenever Malvo appears - back in human form now, whatever that's supposed to mean - Wrench takes the opportunity to violently bash his skull in or torture him slowly. That's all he wanted, really, and it's unfair that the chance for vengeance seems to have been snatched out from under him. So he dreams about it in stead.

He'll have dreams about his partner, too, but it's not the nice kind of narrative that it used to be before this whole mess started. These are dreams wherein Numbers comes to him with a bleeding gash across his throat, pale as a ghost. It's always the same: Wrench will pull him close and hold him real tight, as if that were the solution to everything, and Numbers will struggle.

 _Okay, you big dumb fuck,_ he'll say, freeing his arms and trying to push Wrench away. _Let me go. You have to let me go now._

 _Not a chance,_ Wrench says, and hugs him tighter.

\---

One day there's a loud banging on the door of his motel room.

"Police! Open the door!"

Wrench can't hear it, of course, and after a few warnings they kick the door in. When the pigs burst through, he sits up and squints at their fuzzy silhouettes against the glaring morning light.

 _Thank God,_ he thinks as he reaches for his gun.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry :S


End file.
